Becoming Kaitiaki: a Challenge to Academics and Tauira

Words by Hēmi Daly (he/him; Kāi Tahu, Kāti Irakehu ki te Horomaka) 

Lately, I’ve noticed a tendency in courses across the university, but particularly in Law, to include ao Māori content, but only as a non-assessable, critical lens at the end. This article  isn’t about the ability of kaiako to teach whakaaro Māori and te ao Māori content. Instead, I want to talk about the order and form of teaching, which reveal the implicit assumptions people carry about what is important to learn and teach.

When we teach whakaaro Māori, we become kaitiaki of those whakaaro. Once we introduce whakaaro Māori into a space, we have a responsibility to ensure they are cared for. There’s a reciprocal relationship between the mana of the concepts you teach and your own mana, regardless of whether you’re Māori or not. 

Dr Ruakere Hond, speaking about the relationship between a whānau and their whare in a recent Māori Land Court decision, describes the importance of preserving and enhancing relationships between people and their taoka. “Nēi ko te āta tiakina te taonga ka tupu te mana, waihoki, ki te kore e tiakina ka pāhekeheke te mana, ka mimiti te mana, ka riro rānei.” Whakamana the taoka, tiakina te taoka: teach the concepts well, show them respect, guard and protect them. Do this and the mana of the taoka will grow, as may the mana of its kaitiaki. Fail to do so, and your own mana may be diminished, as may be the mana of the taoka: the whakaaro you teach.

There is still significant opposition to Māori worldviews within Aotearoa. For many tauira (myself included), particular perspectives within whakaaro Māori may be entirely new, as may be the body of thinking which we broadly call whakaaro Māori. Our country envisions constant conversation and collaboration between te ao Māori and te ao Pākehā: between individuals, between whānau, and between Māori and the State. It’s important to introduce Māori perspectives to learning and it’s important to do it well.

When Māori perspectives are not given the respect they deserve by the teacher, it sends a message to the student. When Māori perspectives are put at the end of a course segment, applied as a critical lens in one lecture, assigned as supplementary readings but not spoken to, or not assessed, it implies that Māori perspectives are secondary: good to know about, but not essential to life. The land has already been stolen, after all. Particularly when not assessed, the message is sent that Māori perspectives do not need to be retained once the lecture is over. 

This is whakaiti (diminishing) to the content which you’re teaching. It is not only disrespectful, but a waste of time to teach content while sending the message that it does not need to be learnt.

I tutor LAWS121 and 122. So often, I tell my students to pay attention to what is emphasised by the lecturer: that’s what is important to the course and will probably be assessed. Coincidentally enough, these aspects are often foundational to the subject, or are undergoing major, sometimes foundational, changes.

Take Law, for example. You cannot tell me in 2023 that there is any area of Law where tikaka Māori and/or Te Tiriti o Waitangi are neither foundational nor enacting significant change so as to  render tikaka as foundational one day—if not now. Change is coming, so let’s start making that clear in the way we teach! 

Education in Aotearoa has long-promoted the message that tikaka is not important. Teachers shape students’ understanding of a concept’s importance in choosing what to emphasise; this is often carried by students throughout their lives. Continue delivering ao Māori content as a non-assessable, critical lens at the end of a course, and your graduates will continue slapping a karakia on the start of their hui and calling their workplace diverse.

So, what does recognition of tikaka look like?

Let me be clear: as educators, tauira, and academics, we have the power to transform ^all the spaces with and within which we interact, if only we are willing to accept our shortcomings. Individuals do not need to possess the knowledge of the world, but we need to be receptive to it. Recognition of tikaka often means simply being receptive and open.

I think a lot of the disconnect felt by students and educators alike comes from whakamā. Openness is the answer to whakamā. Māori Marsden describes whakamā as “an outward expression of inward disintegration, an inward unease, because you know you are not what you should be within your group… You have a certain place in society, and anything that takes you off your base in cultural terms causes whakamā.” 

Living on (literally) the fruits of colonisation, while knowing that colonisation continues to occur in this country through policies which deny rakatirataka to Māori, I believe there must be some level of inward disintegration stemming from that. It is whakamā sourced in the dual knowledge of Treaty breaches and your own resultant profit, paired with an intuition for the injustice of these facts. To heal, we must consider the future of this country and our place within it. If you engage with tikaka and with te ao Māori, and understand the importance of tikaka to Māori, then you should also understand the importance of imagining something different, a way of doing things divorced from the methods and methodologies of the past 183 years, which have attempted to kill us, erase us, and make us homeless on our own whenua. 

One of my favourite Moana Jackson quotes is from an interview titled,‘We have come too far not to go further’. I think it’s particularly relevant:

“If all the talk that people have about the Treaty being the founding document is to mean anything then Pākehā people have to ask: ‘what is it that was founded?’ What would they like to have been founded? That if they love this land, and many do, what does that actually mean? … I guess it’s kind of like what my mother told me: ‘never forget how we got here’. Knowing colonisation for the oppressive genocidal dispossession that it was (and is), knowing that it ensured the wealth and power that too many Pākehā now simply take for granted, and knowing that the Treaty promised something different. Then, if one knows those things in honesty not guilt, in the hope for change rather than the despair of change not seeming possible, then ask… ‘what can I do about it?’”

What can we do about it? We can ask uncomfortable questions and listen to the answers, even if we don’t like them. We can take time to educate ourselves: for example, by reading literature by the likes of Moana Jackson, listening to panels on Te Tiriti, or taking introductory courses in te reo me ōhona tikaka. 

Most importantly, you must accept that being a Te Tiriti partner means listening and being open to change, and that all of this takes time. Being and becoming a Tiriti partner is a lifelong journey, but it will never happen if you do not start. Recognising and addressing your inward disintegration is the first step to healing whakamā. To heal, you must speak in honesty, not guilt. Embracing your whakamā may feel like whakamā as it is often translated—shameful, inducing inner turmoil—but know that by addressing your whakamā, not only your turmoil, but Aotearoa’s turmoil, will be resolved.

So, when you teach and learn, place yourself in a space which imagines mutual respect, devoid of assumption, between Māori and Pākehā thought and institutions. Open yourself to questioning and being questioned, reconsider which perspectives you give mana to and how, and begin to view yourself as a kaitiaki of this new whare—with its whakapapa in Māori ^and Pākehā traditions—and its resident whakaaro. 

Why? Because we are the transformation. The government can produce all the new laws it wants to, the Supreme Court can say whatever it likes about the recognition of tikaka within Pākehā law, but if we aren’t ready for it, there will be no one to implement any changes. Movements are made up of people, and change is subject to the will of the people. We can’t wait for the government to produce new laws and we can’t wait for the police, Oranga Tamariki, or our education system to get rid of institutional racism. As long as we’re at uni, it’s up to lecturers to design and teach their courses in a manner reflective of the Treaty promise, and it’s up to students to expect nothing less. 

Transformational change starts down here with us: lecturers, students, and academics. Kia mau, kia ita.